Have been trying to upload the note M&M wrote post pilfering spree but silly thing refuses to upload. Tried again, the little fucker is most annoying-irritating-dance-out-of-my-grasp-imp (everytime something crosses my intent and purpose I anthromorphize it. I'm not sure that's how its spelt though. Artistic license)

(Here's the note though)
"If you want to see yor fone + mp3 tampon agin meet me at the backside with da briefcas at sun don. COME ALUN! or els...

anonymouse

ps: we take vollet also"

Have been hooked to OST Bluffmaster and Rang der Basanti much to disgust of the Prat, Munch. Horror also when she saw I had saved the songs on her itunes to download on my mp3. I had hoped she would inadvertently upload them on her ipod and then realize my fascination with B4U and all songs cheap and dancy has some substance. I mean if you want to do something mindless, you dance, or think of dancing, not watch movies etc. I live too vicariously. Most weekend spent depressed over Memoirs of a Geisha, The Howling and now Foxfire. Haunts my mind the lives of those people. Then reading Kundera is hardly a relief (bit of a pseudo) - Sabina and her whole line of betryals (because that's the one constant in her life, IMAGINE proactively charting out a self destructive pattern).

In the whole quest for reality and digging into the underlying fabric of society and into the "real" nature of human beings somewhere along the line art and literature stopped celebrating life and letting beauty live for the sake of beauty instead of throwing cold water all over you near the end somewhere...wait for the punchline..."it's transient/you're insignificant/we are skin, bones/blah blah..SUCKER!!!" No shit Sherlock. This is post post post moderninsm. Try to annhilate everything to the base so that people need to start again to make life bearable. Revelling in rituals, dailiness, social constructs is not always about celebrating mediocrity waisey. Pata nahi. But it's seriously pissing me off. If I could roll all this into a little sqoosh ball, I would beat the crap out of it with a pointy spear.

Underlying ennui- I need to play netball, basketball. Miss that about school, about college. To rip knees, claw, to be covered in dust and blackened by the sun, to be so single minded and focussed about scoring, to sweat buckets and drown in mineral water bottles and the rush of wrist smashing against wrist. No real love exists without violence of some kind.

I wish Paulikins was back so we could run off to Tehni's and play soccer. I've never come away from dance practices so exhilarated.